Pseudo Interlocution
by GeminiGemelo
Summary: To Scar, Simba was always a little brat... Click to see why.


_**A/N: **_

_Alright, so... this is a little late. Point taken. lol Not like most of you probably even care. xD But I had to pack on Sunday, since I am staying in Nevada for almost two months. But there's still internet and some time to write, so... I put this together in the usual about-an-hour fashion. :p This is One-hour One-shot #5- Pseudo Interlocution (in case you don't know, although most of you probably do, an interlocution is more or less just a conversation between two people). It's about Simba and Scar the night before the stampede... I'm guessing after the Elephant Graveyard scene? Or maybe in place of it... I don't know. lol_

_Without further ado, on with the story... :D_

* * *

"Hey, Uncle Scar! Hey! Hey! Uncle Scar!"

_What is it, boy? Why must you bother me?_

_ Oh, hello, my dear nephew, I didn't see you there._

As usual, Scar chose his second, smarter thought to say aloud. Learning to mask his first reactions was a skill set he'd learned a very long time ago. So he simply sat and smiled, the slight flicking of his tail being the only visible sign that he was angry. As usual, it went over the cub's head entirely.

"Hehehe, you're so funny. I wish Dad was funny like you."

Scar paused for about a second, again considering his options and choosing the smartest one. He was almost unconscious of the process himself, having done it _oh _so many times to that brother of his…

_I wish Mufasa was 'funny like me' too. Then maybe you'd go talk to him for a change._

_ Oh, yes, don't we all? He's so serious, now, isn't he, being the wonderful king that he is? I'm so sorry, my dear boy._

Again, his first impulse was the one that he chose to ignore. As annoying as the cub was, it would not be _smart_ to betray any of his true emotions. And if there was one thing Scar was not lacking in, it was intelligence.

"Yeah," the cub uttered simply, his ears drooping slightly in dejection. He glanced away from his uncle, even going so far as taking a few steps away from Scar's much larger, darker form. Great, did he do something wrong? Did the cub see something… suspicious?

"Ohhhh, is something _wrong_, Simba? That's no good. Whatever it is, you _mustn't _hesitate to tell your old uncle. We simply can't have you depressed now; it isn't fitting for a prince to mope."

He inwardly grimaced as he wrapped a paw around the cub's small, golden body and dragged it closer to him. The cub only looked up at him sadly, as if wanting to tell him some horrifying news, but wasn't sure where to begin. Scar nearly growled in impatience, hoping the cub would get bored and run back into the savannah from whence he had come. But the lionesses were away hunting and Mufasa was being… Mufasa. So the little prince was stuck with Scar, who had previously been resting peacefully on the sun-bathed rock ledge outside of his cave, for who-knew-how long.

"I don't know. B-But Dad told me… you wanted to be a king as a cub, like me. But then I asked him about it and he said… you never will."

The cub glanced up at him ruefully, as if Scar had never been aware of that fact until now. But nothing could be farther from the truth—he'd been aware of it for years. But at least he intended to _do _something about it… unbeknownst to anyone else around… His first impulse was to knock the stupid little parasite off the cliff and be done with it all, but he kept calm. Besides, just a bit longer and he would be rid of him for good.

So Scar's decision was, as always, in perfect synergy with his better judgment. All it took was a small look of fake shock and a few words that fit with the situation, and the cub had already seemingly forgotten about why he had been talking to his uncle in the first place.

_Oh, yes, but I _will_… someday… You and that father of yours will be the first to go…_

_What? Really now? I had _no_ idea… But really, my dear, _dear_ Simba, don't worry your precious little head over it. You've got more important things to think about, like how wonderful of a king you're going to be._

"You really think so, Uncle Scar‽"

"Yes, yes, of course."

He gestured vaguely with his paw, secretly knowing that Simba would never actually be king. The mere knowledge of this was nearly enough to make him laugh aloud in mirth, but, as always, he held back.

_What a brat…_

"Say, where is Mufasa on this _fine _day, anyways?"

That was Scar's way of saying 'where is your father; he needs to come and rescue me from you'—but, of course, Simba took it with the lightheartedness and naivety of a young child. Surely Scar would never be annoyed with him, now, would he? In a moment his face had become vividly animated, and he was all too eager to begin relating some pre-thought-out story for his already bored uncle to listen to.

"Dad's over near the Elephant Graveyard! He's battling some _very _vicious hyenas! He's the bravest lion I know! Why, you know what my friend Aibu told me, Uncle Scar? He said he'd seen a hyena once. They're about _this _high at the shoulder"—he pointed as high as his little arms could reach to a ridiculously tall point on the boulder adjacent to them. Scar, who had actually come into contact with hyenas on many occasions, knew there was no hyena living who was even close to that size. Yet Simba still believed every word of the nonsense he was now spouting—"and they've got fangs about the size of your head! He also said that there's this old battle ritual they have, where they _rip _the head off their foe's body and drink his blood while chanting 'death to lions, death to lions!' I asked Dad about it and he said it was true—he caught hyenas doing it once and he battled them _singlehandedly_! Beat all of them too! That's how he got the scar on his tail. But anyways…"

Scar rolled his eyes. It was nonsense—all of it. For one thing, most hyenas were utter cowards. But what sickened him the most was the fact that Simba's view of his father was somewhat… warped…

"Why yes, of course. I have no doubts your father was able to _kill _all those horrible, slobbering brutes. Indeed, you have that same bravery as well, being the young prince you are! It must run in the family. Speaking of that brave father of yours…" Scar paused, taking a slight whiff of the air before inadvertently tensing up in nervousness, "why yes! I think I see him now! Heheh…"

The cub's response was almost too predictable.

"R-Really? Oh, okay, see you Uncle Scar!"

He left. For now. When he realized that Mufasa hadn't actually returned, well… Scar would be right back at square one—stuck with an even _more_ unhappy and irritating cub. But at least he'd bought himself a few minutes. At this point he really needed it, because no sooner had the cub disappeared behind the rock than a single dark, skulking silhouette appeared from behind a rock next to Scar's cave.

"Banzai! You know you aren't supposed to be here during daylight hours!" he addressed him in a hushed whisper, motioning to where the young Simba had exited not ten seconds before. "Mufasa would skin me alive if he found me talking to you!"

"Ehhh…" Banzai sighed indifferently, "he's not around. Also… what was that you were saying about… _slobbering brutes_?"

"Nothing," Scar interjected a little too quickly, "that was to get rid of that stupid cub."

"Sure…" he muttered in disbelief, casting a glance at his boss before backing up in mild fear. Scar may have been small and physically not-so-powerful, but he could still outmatch a lone hyena. Not to mention the proud mien he exuded—heck, his mere presence in general—was significantly intimidating.

"Well, Shenzi wanted me to tell you that the herds are in the desirable position. We should be able to start the stampede through the gorge to the north at about noon tomorrow."

Scar paused. This was great—no, wonderful—news. He smiled slightly, his fangs glinting in the light of the fading twilight sun.

"Perfect…" he drawled slowly, turning to face Banzai with the sinister grin still on his face. At this time tomorrow that cub would be gone for good. And so would his father, the king…

This was the last night. The last night of pretending.

* * *

_Cool, so... if you read through all of it, I'm guessing you liked it? *hinthinthint* :D Anyways, usual business here: "R&R: leave a thought-don't care if it's flame or not". _

_-Twin out (;_


End file.
